Frosty the Snowman
by busy pushing up daisies
Summary: -harry/loki.- One day, he'll melt, but that's alright. "Harry tastes like something ancient rusting at the corners, something long forgotten in sewage, and he does not know if he favors the taste." On hiatus.


-harry/loki.- one day, he'll melt, but that's alright. "harry tastes like something ancient rusting at the corners, something long forgotten in sewage, and he does not know if he favors the taste."

* * *

Midgard is unbearably hot, and sometimes, Loki feels as if his skin will melt, become nothing but a useless sheen of blue that will slip under the effulgent sun, unnoticed. It burns in Asgard too, but those were happier times, and Loki could forsake the burden of burning for another warmth altogether -_love-._

There is a warmth in freezing, Loki thinks, eases into the shadows, away from the heat (it is inescapable here, this burning planet, but Loki accepts the shadows all the same), thinks of cold, summons the memory of frostiness, in a vain childish hope it will produce some sort of winter for him. It does not work, but nothing ever does.

He stills, inhales slowly, reaches inside for that small spark of magic. The power shocks him sometimes, his body so unused to the sorcery, (dulled by Odin's), and for an instance he grows angry again, red bursting in the seam of magic, before dulling, curling in itself, weak.

"What's wrong?"

Loki freezes, and eases the tense muscles a second later, turning around slowly. There is a boy, with messy hair, and green eyes, waiting for his response, head tilted to the side.

"Nothing," Loki drawls and the boy's bored expression shifts to a mulish one.

"Why are you sweating so much?" the boy asks, curious and stepping just a little closer. As a reflex, Loki calls for his magic, yearns for it to make the boy go away, and it concedes, slithering through the link, but when Loki can almost sing from his accomplishment, the link snaps, cracks. Loki waits, lips pressed together tightly.

Finally, "It's hot."

"Ah," the boy says, as if he understood, "are you a tourist? I just visited America myself, but it's not different from my home country much."

Loki will allow the title, if only to make the boy leave. He can already sense his departure soon, there is nothing interesting about a tourist, he surmises.

"I'm," he searches for a word, "new, here."

"Right," the boy says, offers a smile, "my name is Harry. It was nice to meet you?"

"Loki," he answers firmly, already turning away, eager for silent loneliness, prefers it.

"By the way," Harry interjects cheerfully from behind him, stilling his steps, "you should probably keep your magic in check. I could feel it burning from miles away."

The first thing Loki can think of is _killkillkill_, silence the insolent bird before it chirps to its fellow creatures of a god who cowers from the sun, tells a tale of a villain who never wins, always loses to _him._ The second is a feverish hopeful thought, that perhaps, his brute of a once-brother came to search for him, but he quells the second one easily.

"What do you know of it?" Loki says, carefully, turns to survey the boy with green eyes and messy hair.

The boy laughs.

* * *

"You're going to get sun burnt if you stay like that," Harry interjects from above him, legs dangling from a branch.

"That is the point," Loki informs icily, keeping his eyes closed, reminds himself of patience and what it means.

"Oh?" Harry says. "Why?" There is a childish naivete in the boy that Loki loathes, and admires grudgingly. Loki does not deign to answer and Harry drops from his perch.

"You're burning," Harry says, lifts a hand to Loki's forehead. Loki almost starts from the intimacy, and starts at the coolness instead. Harry's magic is powerful, but shy, edging around the corner when Loki deigns to search, but mostly, _cold._

"You're cold," Loki replies, and almost verbally wishes for Harry's touch again.

"Funny how that works," Harry smiles, runs a hand through his hair. Loki does not ask Harry what he means, does not wish to know. But when Harry lifts a cool hand to Loki's forehead, he doesn't protest.

….

It is a cloudy day when Harry buys ice cream for Loki.

"What is it?" Loki inquires, accepts the cone hesitantly. Loki blinks at the meek coldness seeping through the cracks, wrinkles his nose when it drips onto his hands.

"Just hurry up and eat it," Harry is saying around a mouthful of chocolate, smiles at him. Loki watches, guarded, flickers his eyes to the side when a child cries out. The chubby boy with ruddy cheeks stares down at his empty cone. A glob of vanilla waits at his feet, melting into the concrete. A woman rushes to comfort him, whispering of new cones and it's alright honey.

"Yours is melting," Harry says, concerned, and Loki watches how his lips twitch, his facial muscles work into a frown. His skin burns again, and Loki drops the cone into a trash can.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he snaps curtly, and when he moves to leave Harry does not protest, just watches with cool eyes.

…

"Why are you here?" Loki asks when Harry pops up in his lone sanctuary (a dingy apartment), short legs stretching on the sofa.

"You're burning," Harry says, lifts a hand to soothe Loki's fire. Loki wishes he could yell, tell the boy off, but his skin is cool, and Loki does not wish to burn.

…

"You're just a convenience," Loki says one day, over pancakes and syrup, and Harry only tilts his head to the side.

"A convenience," Loki repeats and Harry smiles, continues chewing on his meal.

"Syrup?"

"No," Loki replies, tired.

…

His magic is erratic today, bursting and curling in itself, and on a particular leap of power, Loki chokes, wraps his hands around Harry's tiny throat.

"What do you want from me?" he growls, squeezing.

Harry's green eyes fix on him, then on the blue crawling up his arms, and Loki notes how his eyes widen. _Let him look_, he thinks furiously.

"You're burning," Harry manages, lifts a hand to his face, and Loki flinches, and the magic pulls back, power shrinking and shrieking against his will. He rears back, away from Harry, away from the cold. Watches the blue escape his skin.

"That was strange," Harry says, clears his throat. Loki slants a look at the boy, at the bruises on his throat, and looks away. Harry settles in front of Loki, stares at him in the eyes. Loki resists the urge to cut him with his magic, cut away those green, green eyes until they weren't looking at him anymore.

"Your magic is getting stronger," Harry notes, and Loki narrows his eyes. Blinks when Harry leans closer.

Harry tastes like something ancient rusting at the corners, something long forgotten in sewage, and Loki does not know if he favors the taste. When he pulls back, Loki stares.

"Why?" Loki finally asks, carefully.

"You're burning." Loki gets frustrated easily, but he doesn't show it, and Harry never comments on it.

…

"Do you know who Frosty the Snowman is?" Harry inquires one day, head tilted to the side, green eyes intent on his. Loki doesn't look over from where his eyes are pasted on the television.

"I suppose not," Harry continues, "it _is _a muggle story." He quiets after that, and Loki almost thanks the gods. Loki twitches when he hears humming.

Finally, he turns off the television, turns to Harry, snaps, "What?"

Harry smiles, sings.

_"Look at Frosty go.  
Thumpetty thump thump,  
Thumpety thump thump,  
Over the hills of snow.", _he finishes, looks to Loki as if he deserved applause.

"Your voice isn't suit for singing," Loki offers, turns away, ignores the frown in Harry's voice.

"It wasn't for singing," Harry says, tucks his arm behind his head.

"Oh?"

"No, just for fun, I say," Harry answers.

Loki doesn't reply, but when he starts humming again, Loki leans in to silence him.

* * *

"_Frosty the snowman knew  
The sun was hot that day,  
So he said, 'Let's run and  
We'll have some fun  
Now before I melt away.'"_

* * *

It starts to snow, and bright lights start to make an appearance. Loki regards the colorful lights donning the doorway, examines the wreath placed on the door.

"Why?" Loki asks, bemused.

"Christmas," Harry shrugs, smiles at Loki.

Harry's skin is cool, but his smile burns just as much. Loki does not know which he prefers.

…

Loki is old, powerful, more than this pathetic being could imagine, Loki thinks, but when Harry notices him staring, smiles, he feels smaller than ever, useless. It is a different kind of burn.

One day, he'll melt from the heat, from the burn-

Harry laughs, gives him a warm smile.

-but, that's alright.

* * *

**A/N: **lame title is lame. inspired by prompt on avengerskinkmeme about Jotun Loki burning. was going to post this in First Impressions, but that wouldn't work. anyways, will post Harry's POV if this gets positive feedback :). thanks for reading, review.

**2/16/13: just in case anyone actually gives two shits: this is on hiatus, which is pretty damn sad considering the fact there's only one more chapter that's basically repetition with harry's voice. but, you know, i only update what i can. **


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